Stay with me, Peeps. I’m talking about the TinyHouse Craze sweeping the country.

Is she smiling because:a. she is outside of her wood-sided sarcophagus?b. she is the realtor who sold this rolling closet to a family of five.c. she is a tourist who wandered into the curious Tiny House District?d. she just finished 12 weeks on Slim-fast and feels as tiny as the house.

Let me end the suspense (because I know you’ve been on the edge of your computers) and tell you what happened to Farmer Skinny and Mrs. Plump.

They toured (using the term “toured” very loosely) three tiny homes.

The first was the smallest (about 300 square feet) with a loft on both ends serving as 2 separate but open sleeping spaces. They needed ladders to get up there–imagine the toddlers. The toilet was in the shower, which, I suppose was both a convenience and total pain depending on the situation brewing. The kitchen/dining/living/play/office/storage space was hard to see since three adults were packed in there.

The second one resembled a camper. I was in too much shock after seeing the first place to remember much about the 2nd one except that it had a separate bedroom for the adults if they extended the “push” or “pop” outs. Same with the living area. Push a button and they got 10 feet more living space. WOW! The wife wasn’t happy with the hallway. She felt it was too segmented and she would have a hard time keeping track of the kids in all that space. I began wondering about her maternal attention span.

I remember the third home quite well. The exterior was all fancified to seem like a log cabin…well, maybe a luxury log dog house. It was also the largest at 600-650 square feet. By this time in the program, 650 square feet seemed rather spacious. Mrs. Plump liked many things about this monstrosity but complained that there were too many windows to wash. Really? My sister had an Easy-Bake Oven with more windows than that house.

Yup. This is the model Tina had. Just like Tiny House #3, it took some work to keep it sparkly.

In the end, I was stunned to find that, after careful consideration and weighing all the pros and cons of each option, these two people:

Did not decide to stay living in the 1,200-foot basement of Farmer’s Skinny’s parent’s farmhouse even though I didn’t get the sense that they were being evicted.

Did not opt to rent a real apartment or house or join the circus.

Did not even go for the (achem) largest of the tiny houses (yeah, right, all those windows).

They picked the smallest (the first) tiny house. Go small or try to go home (if you can all fit).

I don’t remember their reasons. I tend to block discombobulating stimuli. I don’t need more loopy poop messing with my already dizzified brain.

Or maybe I just really had to pee and didn’t stick around to hear why they chose the tiniest house of all.

Okay. I’m being a terrible Buddhist by judging tiny houses and the people who opt to squeeze their lives into them. Tiny houses are perfect for some people, but this particular family didn’t seem like the ideal candidate for warrior downsizing. Heck, the adults had to sleep in separate lofts so their kids wouldn’t fall 6 feet to the floor and hit the dog. I can’t imagine Thanksgiving dinner. Or any dinner.

Yes, houses are expensive, but is the THC the solution to their economic woes or is it just another example of exploiting desperate people in desperate situations? HGTV is good at that. Stations that show crap houses/gardens/rooms becoming magically perfect in half an hour are guilty of creating unrealistic expectations and setting you up for failure. I know. I’ve stopped trying because I know that nothing is as easy as they make it look.

Don’t ask. Don’t tell. Don’t flush.

But don’t think I’m just picking on THC and HGTV.

Here are just a few other items being marketed over the airwaves. They, too, promise good/great/miraculous outcomes to the lucky buyer.

I have never confused spray paint with healthy hair, have you?

Because we don’t have enough scary shizzle in the world.

No one should rush “their business,” so this seems like the perfect distraction when striving for that hole in one.

What’s worse than having to pee when at the tee? I’ll tell you, watching your pal take a tinkle into his Uroclub while trying to look like a pro. Come on, Doug, we all know what you’re doing. Your club sloshes every time you swing it.

Because who doesn’t want a hot, moist crotchy essence when there’s a choice in personal hygiene?

Every car, camper, tiny house, and office should have one of these kits. You just never know when you’ll need an emergency Stache.

For the food (but not the fashion) conscious. You won’t miss a morsel but you may miss several dating opportunities. Everything is a trade-off, People.

Never be caught sleeping on the job, at class, while driving, during court, or while in solitary confinement again. Just apply these eyeball patches over your closed eyelids and no-one will know that you have checked out. Warning: these stickers don’t blink, so very observant authority figures may catch on.